Identity
by Distortion
Summary: On the way to Rivendell, a case of mistaken identity can be a blessing or a curse. Some strangers want the Ring, but which Halfling holds it?
1. Mistaken Identity

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, except for Frodo, cuz he lives in my closet! Tolkien actually owns everyone, but if he knew all that slash stuff, he'd be spinning in his grave. Don't flame me! Flames will be used to ward off Nazgul that want my precious...................  
  
I have another fic to complete on the ff.net, I will not abandon it! But this plot bunny appeared in my head, and all plot bunnies must live life to the full extent. Here it goes!  
  
Seven days. Strider was amazed they had even made it that far, with Frodo in his weakened state, and the other hobbits carrying an overload of packs. He had expected Frodo to have barely made it past Weathertop, and yet, he had made it seven days. Seven days of walking, seven days of riding, they were all feeling it, in their sore feet and backs. Frodo indeed was feeling it. It seemed, just when he began to take a good turn, that he would falter and lose what health he had. Nightmares wracked his body, and he soon came to fear the night. He was quite torn in that decision. Night or day? Day brought warmth. Whenever they would take a break, Sam would pick the warmest, sun soaked rock, and have Strider lay him upon it. Frodo could stretch himself, wary of the shoulder, and nap in the sun. He was pleasant and happy when he could sunbathe, and he was in most a grumpy mood when he was forced in shade. And Frodo, injured and moody was not a happy sight.  
  
Day also brought friendly, but blurred faces. That was mainly why he hated the day. It was at day when he most realized he was losing his sight. There was always fog on the ground, even on the warmest of days. He wondered how the other could roll up their sleeves and smile and laugh, when there was such fog around. It was one day, when he was sunbathing, he had a stroke of genius. What if the fog was in his mind, just one of the many side effects of his wound? He hardly believed it. The fog felt real, he could feel it curl itself upon his left shoulder and stay there as he shivered, waiting for some breath of warmth. But the fog was very dense that day, and yet, he sat sunbathing.  
  
Night also had its advantages. At night they got to rest, and it was less aggravating for Frodo to lie on the ground, instead of on a bouncy pony. Also, his friends stayed close to him, often holding and comforting him when he had bad spells. But the bad spells were what he hated about night. He never felt sick during the day; it was at night, when all pain had been building up, when he felt the wound. He had nausea, fainting spells, and it was at night when the nightmares came. He hated nightmares, he had always hated nightmares, and now, every night was a nightmare.  
  
Strider would not let them travel by night, for that was when the Wraiths would have more success in hunting. It was also when Frodo had his worst spells. The poison in his shoulder was causing a fever, and that had resulted in horrific delirium. If they were lucky, he would only mumble in his sleep. When they weren't, Frodo would wake up, screaming or sobbing, whatever his mood held for the day. It pained the healthy Hobbits to see their friend hurt, and worst, it seemed to be his own body that continued to cause it. His shoulder had begun to seal, and soon nothing would be left but a cold, white mark.  
  
Strider had recommended they stay with Frodo, letting him sleep as close to one of them as possible. That seemed to help calm the delusions, to have friends around, one always willing to do something for him. Make tea, give blankets, and to help him to relieve himself, one of the more embarrassing tasks.  
  
Tonight, The fire crackled and popped, as most fires do, illuminating their small campsite. It cast shadows even to the far-reaching corners, where light normally would not have gone. Strider had gone for firewood, a look at their surroundings, and as much coney as he could catch. They had all huddled around the fire, Frodo cradled against Sam, a pout on his face. It had rained all day, making them cold and wet and allowing no way to sunbathe.  
  
Quietly, Merry crept towards Sam, a bowl of mushroom soup in his hands, hoping Frodo couldn't see him. This task had to be done carefully. One mistake could cause them ruin, and seeing as how Frodo needed food, there would be no room for mistake.  
  
There was a quick handoff of the soup, and at once, the trial began.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, look't what I've got! I've got some nice mushroom broth and some dried fruit! Won' ya take some?" Sam cooed, allowing the broth's smell to drift toward Frodo.  
  
Frodo's answer was to clamp his mouth shut.  
  
"Come on now master, I cooked it myself, and I'd be mighty disappointed if ya didn' eat none of it."  
  
Frodo shook his head, and glared.  
  
"Master, your eatin' now, whether you like it or not." Said Sam, a little more harsh then he had meant, but Frodo needed to eat. Frodo, always the perceptive one, could tell when his servant harbored a threat, and this simple sentence harbored quite a threat. Frodo opened his mouth, allowing Sam to ladle some broth into him.  
  
"There, now that wasn' so bad was it!" Sam continued to spoon feed Frodo, while Merry began his story again, much to Pippin's discomfort.  
  
"So, Maggot is coming towards us screaming 'I'll get ya, I'll get ya nasty thieves!' The three of us go running, towards that fence of his. Frodo, who was always the best climber, jumps and climbs it and goes right over. I got through out the broken plank, and Pippin, goes through too, only he gets caught!" At this Pippin turned a frightful shade of magenta.  
  
"It wasn't my fault. There was a nail hanging out", Pippin mumbled.  
  
"So, anyway, Pippin's hollering 'Save me, augggggggh save me!' and Frodo goes running back to get him, but he cant budge him. So I run back, and we give a big old tug and-"  
  
"They ripped," Frodo said, surprising them all by joining in the story. "But he comes flying, and I picked him up, made him stand, and once more we go running! Soon as we got back to Bag end, we stopped to examine the damage, and-"  
  
"I had a huge whole in the seat of my pants." Pippin added, most melancholy.  
  
Their whole campsite burst out in giggles.  
  
"It wasn't funny, I got such a whooping from my parents. I never heard the end of it. I still don't," he added with a meaningful look at Merry.  
  
It was then Sam felt Frodo go stiff at his side. "Master?" he questioned.  
  
"Going to be sick." Frodo said hastily. Sam leaned him forward, just in time, and Frodo heaved, and emptied his stomach. The other three Hobbits waited with baited breath, to see what this spell would bring.  
  
It was a short one, and once he was done, Frodo shivered and slid out of Sam's grasp.  
  
"Frodo! What on earth..." Sam caught Frodo from the ground and gathered him in a large bear hug. Frodo's head had landed on Sam's shoulder, and Sam felt the warmth of his head through his shirt.  
  
Merry and Pippin inched forwards, and knelt down by Sam.  
  
"Cousin, you ok?" Pippin dared to ask. Sam, who was slowly rocking Frodo, looked concerned, waiting for his master's answer.  
  
"Yes, I think I'm-" Frodo began, but he was soon interrupted by a loud scream.  
  
It took a few seconds for the camp to realize that Frodo issued the scream, his eyes closed in agony. *************************  
  
The hunter sat hunched, watching the tiny Coney jump back and forth. He sighed. It wouldn't bring much food; it was tiny and had barely any meat on it. But it was all they had.  
  
There! The rabbit was headed to the trap! He was sniffing it, going near it. This was the crucial moment. Would the rabbit run or go for it? He was there; he was going to reach it.  
  
And then a scream ripped through the night. A loud agonizing scream. The coney stopped and ran in the opposite direction. Strider almost leapt after it, but he soon could recognize the voice.  
  
Frodo.  
  
The more pressing matter was to get back to camp. Frodo had had nightmares before, but he had never screamed this long or loud. Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. Strider ran as fast as he could. He imagined he was going faster than the coney.  
  
He needed to get back.  
  
He needed to get back fast. ******************************  
  
Tears were now running down Frodo's face. Words could now be discerned through the howl.  
  
"NO! Oh, no, no please...stay back... I have nothing!"  
  
The other hobbits looked on shocked. What had caused this sudden change? Not even five minutes ago, Frodo had been giggling along, laughing at family memories. Now he sat tortured, begging imaginary enemies.  
  
"Frodo, please calm down, please, they're not here, they wont hurt you." Sam felt Frodo's breath on his shoulder. Frodo was breathing far too fast and far too rapid. Pippin tried to rationalize with Frodo.  
  
"Frodo, those wraiths wont get you here. We'll protect you!"  
  
"Not wraiths, no no no!" His screaming quieted now left to a sobbing keening. "Oh...they see me...they hear me, but they wont hunt me. They dont need to. They think I'm done for...."  
  
"Frodo, you're not making any sense. Please calm down," Merry tried. "We'll protect you!"  
  
"No, they tell me," Frodo gasped in pain. "They say I'm theirs. They say I'm too far gone. They're not here, but someone else is"  
  
It was Merry's turn to try. "Frodo, what are you talking about? Who's here?"  
  
Merry looked down at Frodo. His glazed eyes apparently stared nothing, just dark forest. His face was covered in perspiration, and Frodo began to shiver. Merry laid his hand on the wet forehead. He was hot, much too hot. Frodo leaned in to Merrys touch; it was cool compared to the sick hobbits temperature. Frodo let out a moan and Pippin grasped his hand, feeling the warmth for his own. Sam felt Frodo's breath even out and felt the hobbits relax.  
  
"I think he's falling asleep. He definitely claming do-"  
  
Suddenly, Frodo gasped and arched his head back, screaming a loud, high- pitched scream.  
  
A Black Rider scream.  
  
The hobbits cringed when they could hear his voice tortured with pain. Tears were streaming down Frodo's face. Pippin couldn't help but crying along. Why was his cousin feeling so much pain? It wasn't fair for Frodo  
  
"Frodo! Please, are you ok?"  
  
Frodo stopped screaming and looked Sam in the eye and whispered "Someone approaches.." before his head lolled backwards as he fainted, his eyes wide open.  
  
Sam grabbed Frodo's head, and pushed down against his shoulder once more, continuing the slow, comforting rocking movement.  
  
"Merry, run now, go get Strider. Hurry."  
  
"Shouldn't we-" Merry began, but Sam interceded.  
  
"GO! NOW!"  
  
And at the panic in Sam's voice, Merry went running. ************************************************************* Strider ran, his feet pounding on the ground. He imagined that Coney was no further than he was. He had kicked up his speed horribly though when he had heard that last wraith scream. The Wraith's were probably approaching the camp as he spoke. He didn't have enough trust with the hobbits now, how much would he have if he wasn't there to defend them a second time? Sam would probably imagine he was in it too. But, no, he was running now, he was almost there. Frodo had been injured once. He wasn't going to be injured again.  
  
Not with Strider on watch, at least.  
  
He saw the small fire rapidly approaching, and he increased his speed. His lungs ached, His muscles screamed in protest, but Frodo needed him.  
  
"Almost there, you're almost there." He told himself. Finally, he reached the campsite.  
  
But the sight that greeted him was not what he expected. Sam lay on the ground, apparently unconscious, and Pippin bending over him. And Frodo lay close to the fire, a sword at his throat, looking blankly up. The man that held the sword was rugged, tall, and appeared as though he had been in the wild for many days.  
  
He looked up and saw Strider.  
  
"Don't come any closer or the injured one dies." Sam sat bolt upright. Pippin, both stiffened, and tensed, hearing his cousin's life being threatened. Sam met Striders eyes and paled. Strider nodded, trying to be of some reassurance.  
  
"Now, tell me," the man said aloud to the camp. "Tell me which of those two carries the treasure I've heard of, and I let the injured one go."  
  
TBC 


	2. Identity Crisis

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! This chapter is dedicated to you guys! Oh, btw, I wanted to say, I've decided that I'm going to hide fun stuff in each of my stories. There is a reference to a musical in each chapter of all my stories. Bonus points to anyone who names the musical in a review! I swear, it isn't a gimmick to get you to review, I just love musicals!  
  
Btw, I really would love a live journal, but I have no money. If anyone would be kind enough to help. Thank you! Enjoy this chapter!  
  
I've thrown in a new element to my story. Irony. Try and find it.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
"I've waited long enough. Word travels fast, and there are words that a halfling carries a great treasure. And I want it."  
  
The stranger paused to let his words sink in, as he knew they would. He could tell from the pained expressions on all of their faces that they would trade any treasure for the injured one. This plan couldn't fail. It had been so easy to track them from Weathertop. They were taking enough of a slow pace with the sick one. Even now, the halfling sat, staring up into space, never seeing, just sitting with this glazed look of pain. The stranger almost felt pity for the little one, it seemed he was not faring well. All he had was a flesh wound at his shoulder. Why would a small stab wound cause some much pain? But, he remembered his duty. He was happy this one had been injured; it had made his job so simple, except for the screaming. The Halfling had screamed louder and more gut wrenching then any injured soldier had ever. He had screamed so loud and long, the man's ears still rung. And almost as bad was the fat halfling, who had fought until the stranger had had to knock him with his sword. Still, the weakened state of his prisoner made his task simple. If he ever met who wounded the halfling, he'd kiss him.  
  
"So, which is it? Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to figure it out on my own?"  
  
Aragorn was almost feeling the same as the stranger. Frodo looked worse than when he had left. He was pale, and his left shoulder was saturated with blood. He could see the dark splotches in the firelight. Frodo didn't need this. Aragorn would have to think quickly. This man would obviously not be swayed unless he had the Ring. But, the man had never seen the Ring, he hadn't even called it the Ring, he had called it a treasure. Did Sam or Pippin have anything that could pass as very expensive? Aragorn had one option for the moment.  
  
Bargaining.  
  
"We carry nothing. I think you must be mistaken. Word travels fast, but rumors are often not true."  
  
The stranger sneered. As Aragorn had thought, the man would not be swayed easy. Not without fighting.  
  
"You hesitated. If you carried nothing, why would you wait so long to answer?"  
  
Aragorn had to admit he was caught. He had hoped the man would be less intelligent than he appeared, but he now knew any hope of a dumb, gold- hungry attacker was gone.  
  
"I'm not stupid. I've been in this business my whole life." The stranger paused to smile cruelly at Aragorn, before continuing. "I got a lot of what it takes to get along. Except for money. Now am I gonna have to start cutting him to get you to talk?"  
  
Sam made a choking noise and grabbed on to Pippin, who had blanched, and was a pale white.  
  
"There's no need for threat, we will make a deal. However, you harm that Halfling and you will never live to see a drop of his blood spilt," Aragorn growled through gritted teeth.  
  
The man snorted at Aragorn's empty threat.  
  
"You think you scare me? You got a lot of nerve if you think I wont hurt him. See, watch this." The man raised his sword, and held it over Frodo's right arm. Aragorn immediately drew his sword, but the man shook his head.  
  
"Attack me and I'll slice his throat," the stranger said, barely over a whisper. Sam paled even further, and shook with rage, trying to hold himself back. Aragorn could see Sam was thinking. And then a thought struck him. What if Sam sacrificed himself for his master? What if Sam said he carried the treasure? He would have no way of warning Sam not to say anything without it appearing that Sam had the Ring.  
  
"What's going on here? Don't think I'm not watching you, eh? Well, I've had enough of this. Which halfling carries the treasure?" the man shouted with frustration. He would have no more of this! He pinpointed a location below the Halfling's shoulder, and lowered his sword into the arm, and brought it up again.  
  
Frodo let out a sharp intake of breath, his eyes flickered, and he came back to awareness. A pool of dark color appeared on his arm.  
  
This time Sam could not control himself. He jumped up on his feet, stood tall, as tall as a Hobbit could, and shouted at the man.  
  
"Hey! There's no need for that! You stop hurtin' my master!"  
  
The stranger turned towards Sam.  
  
"Your Master? Well, we wouldn't want to hurt your master. Which two of you carries that treasure?"  
  
Aragorn glared at Sam. He tried motioning to Sam not to say anything. But, Sam was in his own little world now.  
  
Sam gave one last determined look at his pale master, who was looking up at the sword above his arm with a terrified expression. Then he looked up at the man who held his master life in his hands.  
  
"I carry it. I carry the treasure." 


End file.
